Old Entries


february 17th 2000

sometimes you need music with no words. sometimes words aren't right. aren't efficient. sufficient. meaningful. and the only place i know to go when the one thing that has kept me alive becomes meaningless is my chest. throat. gut. where i can hear my heart beating and lungs inflating. where i can see hear taste touch smell the instruments. where i can crawl inside the rythms and melodies and find whatever it is i feel that i have lost. i'm not really even sure anymore what it was. if it really mattered anyway. like an argument you have with a friend where you forget what started it in the first place. i feel exactly like that. like i am arguing with something so far hidden within my body that i may never even know what "it" is. the unsees enemy. friend? what if what i've been looking for isn't really lost. just waiting until i touch the skin of reality. for me to close my eyes and hear the sanity. or maybe it is just waiting for me to close my eyes and then it will pounce all over my neck. my lioness. going in for the kill. my little lost duckling. maybe i am a swan...


january 6th 2000

dying dying dying inside. so much... i dont even know the word. too much. i feel... i dont even quite know how i feel. i know im sad. but theres so much more than just being sad or just being angry or just being crazy. it is so insidious and disgusting, what i am. i feel as if i belong in some place where people pay to get in and stare at the freak of nature. the anomoly. the enigma. because i am. an anomoly. i feel utterly and hopelessly alone and frightened and insane and i am slipping so far into the abyss if my own insanity that i dont know if i can ever pull myself out. certainly not on my own. so much so much so much. too much. "trusting my soul to the ice cream assasin. you say you dont want it the circus we're in but you dont really mean it. how many fates turn around in the overtime..." so lost. the mind fucks have begun. stage one in the downward spiral i have begun. im trying to prolong it as much as possible. because stage 2 is severe self mutilation and utter starvation. followed by alienation and isolation. then self destruction. i have done it before. and i am trying so hard to stop it.


january 2nd 2000

my eyes look so old. its rather sad actually. you look into my eyes and there is this perpetual sadness. very old. my eyes look as if they belong inside the head of some frail old woman in a convalescent home waiting for the day that she dies with in unexplainable eagerness. i feel like that sometimes. so eager for death. do you ever taunt it? tempt fate? step out into the street a little too close to an oncoming car? i do that sometimes. and soemtimes i dont even realizze im doing it. maybe that is why i am so adventurous and unafraid of danger. because im really hoping that it will be just a little too much that one ttime and it will end everything. i think that is perhapd even more dangerous than *trying* tto kill myself. its harder to put your finger on. to give a name to. its much more insidious and sneaky. like a serpent. i am so odd. i can do nothing simply can i? even my suicidality (i love inventing words) is complicated and coniving.


december 16th 1999

sometimes i forget to breathe. i forget that i am meant to be inhaling and exhaling. and when i remember i find myself gasping for air. feeling like im going to suffocate. i actually contemplated smothering myself tonight. it just seemed like it needed to be done. i needed to cease to breathe for once and all. i can't deal with all of these teasers. but. i didn't. im losing weight at an extrememly rapid pace. lost 10 or 15 pounds last week. i have to force myself to eat. i took the macaroni and cheese out of the fridge 5 times yesterday and put it back every time. and when i finally did manage to eat some i had a total of about 3 bites. the thought of food makes my stomach turn. makes my lungs feel as if they are filling with water. so i dont eat. i either sleep too much or sleep too little. i either get 3 hours of sleep or 15. never a happy medium. my arm is a mess. i have cut myself three times in the past 24 hours, and each time i am having to find new skin to avoid cutting raw skin. if i do much mroe with my left arm im going to have to move on to my right. and it all comes back to breath. breath is taken for granted. you just breathe. in and out. all the time taking for granted that your lungs will work properly forever. except sometimes they dont. i spend half of my day clawing at my chest to remind my body i need oxygen. i stand on the edge of something dangerous, breath stolen by nameless goblins and evil faeries. and just as i feel myself falling into a bottomless respite, i am flung back from the grips of death. insanity. whatever you want to call it. my chest feels as if it is on fire, and i cant possibly drink enough water. and then i go on doing whatever it was i was doing. and start the whole process over again. do i take for granted my own constant in and out of oxygen and carbon dioxide? life? no. does it anger me beyond words that nothing can be "normal", not even my own breath? like one cannot possibly believe.


november 8th 1999

drunk. 5 years. such a long time. and yet. it still feels like yesterday. i dont remember the girl i used to be. i dont remember her at all. i think she was pretty. i think she was innocent. but one never knows. not when you try to remember your childhood and you draw a blank. well. an almost blank. i remmeber all the horrible things. teh things that drive the bottle to my lips. nursing. like a baby at a mothers breast. nursing... nursing... and i come up with... nothing. nothing. begging for something. and yet... NOTHING. where is my something? at the bottom of the rum bottle by my side? perhaps. perhaps not. maybe i should figure that out. find out where my something is. and regardless of whether i am ready for it... at least i will know where to look. "but he washed me shore... and he took my pearl... and left an empty shell of me... and theres too much going on... but its calm under the waves... in the blue of my oblivion..." under the waves. under... within. the seventh direction. she crawls within. crawls. there must be something... there must be. something.


november 6th *an email i sent to a friend. felt right for here.

im still alive. alive, but fucked. im having a very very hard time coping with some of the shit im feeling. it'll be 5 years on the 17th. im not coping. im not even coping *badly*. im simply not coping. im drinking every night. and i lie to myself and tell myself the alcohol will help me to escape. and it never does. except i don't realize that until it's too late. i've built up quite a tolerance. which sucks. because now i have to drink hard liquor. and i hate the taste of it so much that i can't mix it with anything. so i shoot it and chase it. i've almost puked in the middle of a shot before. and i still fucking drink it. im sick. i know i am. and some would say that is the first step. admittance. i disagree. i think it further establishes my insanity. because i know im sick. and i dont do a damn thing to change it. dont know if i want to. dont know if im ready. or if i ever will be.

cant seem to escape the people i hide inside of me. the alcoholic. the scared little girl. the virgin. the whore. the survivor. the victim. guilty. innocent. forgiven. condemned. brilliant. ignorant. i am a plethora of contradiction. a mess. and i wanted nothing more than to respond to your email in a normal, sane, okay way. but i couldn't.

i battle with the woman who screams and no one hears, and the woman who wants nothing more than to retreat into the shadows. and most of the time the latter of the two wins. and it is so easy. it is so easy to retreat. because i am a thousand miles away from everything. from life. from sanity. my sanity is a thousand miles away. and dont misconstrue that as me saying i regret coming out here. because i dont. i love it here. but thats just it. it doesn't matter where i am. i could be in bangkok. i would still spend every waking moment feeling like a victim. and praying for survival.

i have probably said enough for now. i could go on and on and on. write volumes of self-pity. but you dont deserve that. i can't make it right, dumping on you. and i will respond to your email when i am sober tomorrow. because there is much i want to say. but i cant see past the blackness invading my head at the moment, to speak anything but insanity. i hope you understand.











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